


The Cracked Foundations

by AmerValk



Series: The Cracked Foundations [1]
Category: Magic: The Gathering
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Consensual But Not Safe Or Sane, Domestic Violence, F/F, F/M, Gen, Not a Love Story, Spoilers, Suicidal Thoughts, Vampire Sex, Vampire Turning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-27
Updated: 2017-09-12
Packaged: 2018-12-20 17:08:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11925408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmerValk/pseuds/AmerValk
Summary: This fiction is after the event's of Eldritch Moon, where Sorin relearns what it means to be planeswalker and a vampire and is forced confront the failure of his protege, Nahri and the death of Avacyn. Left with the prospect of  several lifetimes as Innistrad's guardian, he  is forced to reflect on his relationship with the vampires of Innistrad and the role that he plays in it.THIS IS NOT A ROMANCE WITH SORIN AND OC.I am attempting to finish this work by January 2019.  A lot of the more violent features are in later parts/chapters.





	1. Prologue

The Cracked Foundations: A Reflection 

Sorin Markov despised his ancestral home. There were a millenia of memories on Innistrad. His grandfather encouraging him to undergo the change that ultimately gave him his powers, the endless hunger of the vampire and the destructive lusts that caused his exile from his childhood home in the first place. Even, by all technical accounts, the eldest of them was Olivia, she lacked the vision that came from his spark. Vision, he maligned, the reason he was here in this predicament in the first place. For once in his life he dared to give a damn about the plight of his food, and the end result has led to this weak imprisonment. He could not decide what was worse, the pain of the endless spiraling stone, bearing into his skin, the humiliation of the trap in the first place, or being bested and betrayed by Olivia Voldaren. She had never seen the vampires of Zendikar, bound by a ravenous hunger to serve Eldrazi Gods.Perhaps if she had, she would have had a shred of decency in her licentious habits and mockery of their shared nature.

Now, Avacyn and his efforts to protect Innistrad were erased. His plane was salvaged but a wretched broken thing. And all his efforts to forestall the violence had been for nothing as he was being forced to confront his entire past with a plane simply because he had seen beyond the Blind Eternities.And now he was forced to live here and watch his plane descend into insanity. And all because of the child. If she was powerful enough to shut off the spark of a fellow planeswalker, why in the blind eternities did she simply imprison him with this infernal distraction? Her sense of justice was inadequate at best. 

Sorin could not fairly recall why he imprisoned Nahiri in the first place. Yes, he could not kill her, but what purpose was there to wanting to destroy an ally, or even resisting the request of one. Certainly ,as he now had time to think on the matter, her request was not unreasonable and her demand may have been insolent but was it worth a lifetime of imprisonment. He didn’t properly remember now. She should have known better than to order him anywhere, he was the Lord of Innistrad and you did not tell him what to do on his plane.

The only thing the child had done correctly was to force him to dwell on his sins, if he was being brutally honest. Sorin was not without blemish but the child should have understood the term reciprocity, had he taught her so little that she had no idea how to properly deal in revenge? The more he thought on the matter the more she was his failure. He gave her the lessons on how to be a planeswalker, how to wield her power, and she was so weak that she could not finish him. She was a bitter and profound disappointment.

Emrakul and her threat was bound to the moon, and he was forced to stand guard as a stilled sentinel. Was this Nahiri’s revenge? Making him a guardian of his own plane by force until the titan would be released. No, Emrakul was the revenge, his survival was the child’s lack of teeth. A failure she would regret while his desire for vengeance simmered. He felt her magic fade from the plane as the monolith cracked. It was only a matter of time, one of the few remaining luxuries Sorin Markov possessed. He only hoped he had the strength to control his thirst when he was released. As a young walker, he learned that he did not need to feed to survive, but his vampire instincts were kept in check by consistent feeding. He did not like what he became when starved from sustenance.

So, he watched as Thraben became consumed with insanity. The world he strove to save, even against his own kind began to fall apart. Even as Emrakul bound herself in the moon, her seeds were sown. There was no force to counteract the vampire's thirst, nor the darkness that would slowly crawl over the plane. This would become a hellscape over time and all he could do was watch and wait. He could wait for death, perhaps he would not survive. His power was diminished, would he starve in agony like the rest of his line? No, life was not so simple, once it was rendered pointless. He could not planeswalk, yet, but feeding was possible, it was only a matter of time, like all other matters. The rock bore into him torturously and patiently, though her presence on the plane weakened as the energies drifted back to normal. Well, what was normal for a plane on the verge of chaos and it’s own imminent destruction.

Perhaps the child thought he owed her, that they shared some affinity. He had lived many generations, he did not share affections with anyone lightly, even a protege,as she had been those years ago. Were they friends? Or was she a tool as Nahiri sacrificed her freedom to guard the Eldrazi on Zendikar? He remembered being fond of her. She was a quick learner and her power grew exponentially. Sorin was proud of her, he could even be proud of her now if she had the courage of her convictions. But she was weak, hopefully she would not survive her own planeswalk away from the plane. It would be just for what she denied him now. The world shook around Sorin as the ruined manor began to decay. He salivated, it was a sign of her enchantment weakening. His cocoon was soon to follow. He had gathered grudges patiently for several millennia, what was a few more?

Sorin Markov kept watch as the days passed. He had seen aeons drift by, but never had he been so bound, keenly aware of his hunger as it panged in his veins. The clouds shifted over Stensia, the sky was still red, dashed with near ribbon like scarves of black, but occasionally the sun was seen. Whatever magic held the sun at bay, and left the human inhabitants in fear was weakening. But the spell was ancient and would not fade in a day or even a year. And so he waited, his hunger never sated. Near the warped ruins of his home, the ancient planeswalker vampire fell into torpor. His body sat as a still beacon against the Stensia sky.


	2. Decay

Chapter One: Decay

Harmony makes small things grow, lack of it makes great things decay. Sallust

There was one road into Stensia from Gavony, if you could call it that. The Geier Reach was a treacherous and precarious path. If the vampires who guarded the pass between the provinces did not kill someone, one misstep could spell a traveler’s doom. The Reach created a natural and imposing barrier between the great Vampire Houses and the rest of the provinces. Stensia had always been regarded as forbidding place. The sky was cursed with a dark enchantment that painted the province in eternal dusk. It looked as if it was soaked with blood and entrenched in decay. Only the bravest, or the most foolish dared to traverse the mountain paths anymore and Joana Simms was neither. She simply traveled. Her desires were devoid. With empty determination she steadied herself against a rope she had secured and began the long ascent through the mountains. Kruin Pass was more of a climb than it was a true road.

Joana glanced at the sky above and noted that the vampire guardians were mysteriously absent. It was why she chose to use this route into Stensia. She did not have to worry about becoming some predator’s meal. Joana had never been to Stensia before. Like every human she knew it was a dangerous land, even Avacyn could not protect the humans who inhabited the region. The province was under constant cloud cover, even after the fall of so many vampires in the madness during the Eldritch Moon. She almost felt a call, an unstable curiosity and traveled with bold steps through the mountain ranges. She knew it was foolhardy to attempt the journey, but Joana wished to escape the nightmare, the memory of Thraben. With each determined step, she tried to forget the past.

As a young girl, she prayed to Avacyn, like all humans. The angel was a perfect being. Her eyes were as golden as the sun in the height of the afternoon and fought to protect humanity with a spear made of the purest silver. She was the day and the night in one being and meant to protect them from the monsters. But, her purpose was corrupted. First, she turned on the humans and her worshippers became prey. Joana wished it was a nightmare as Avacyn’s madness beget an even more sinister corruption. Finally, Avacyn died, her very image unmade in all of the temples in a moment that Joana wished to forget. She thought that it could not get worse after Avacyn was gone. It was not the death of the angel, but the demise of a faith she had always known to be.

Then she came, the monster who called herself a she. Her song drove the corrupted mad and in one moment their shrill screams crescendoed at a fever pitch. She could never forget the dreadful madness that swept over the land. Families turned against one another and Thraben became the center of a battle for her home and for life itself. However, like all things on Innistrad, life was impossible to destroy. It could be corrupted, reshaped, and defiled, but somehow it would endure, as Joana did now. A stern thought crossed her mind and she dashed past a hurdle of rough stone. Her piton dislodged and she tumbled down the pass. 

Joana’s motions were out of control and she rolled, feeling rocks cut into her skin and tear her sleeves as she protected her core and head. Her arms and legs could heal but one knock in the head and she would fall unconscious.Then, any monster out there could easily devour her. Life had become a game of survival for it’s own sake. Finally, she stopped falling. Her knees and elbows were bruised and she could hardly walk. This won’t heal in a day, she groaned, forcing herself to stand on uneven legs. When her body finally found it’s strength she finally observed her surroundings. 

As a girl she heard about the grandeur of the great houses, but she would never know as chunks of the manor were callously thrown about, as if they were no more than mere stones.The ruin was beyond redemption. Anything of value was broken, looted, or lodged impenetrably in the smooth and elegant stone. Who could have twisted such a place? She could only hope that whatever caused this much devastation was far away. She was not prepared for the sight of the decrepit manor, or the carnage and decay. The manor was drowning in the bodies of vampire knights and the abominations alike. Humans twisted beyond recognition, husks of corpses, and the undead glow of twice dead eyes. It smelled of rotting flesh and literal death. She bent at the waist and tasted the bile as it crept from her throat and fell to her knees. There was little food in her stomach, and what came out was an pink bubbling mass of fluids. Joana wiped her mouth and glanced up as she stood. The bodies were in the fused within the walls themselves, their mouths twisted in agony. They must have died hungry, she reasoned.How did the stone do such a thing? It was wielded as a weapon with a power a mere human could not comprehend.

Joana wandered the manor,compelled by morbid curiosity. A battle had been fought here. She could see and smell the remains of marred humans and the husks of the undead. Even the lush red carpets were rotting away and there was nothing left of what once must have been a grand house, but a one vampire still lived. 

Sorin Markov awoke at the scent of fresh blood. He could not remember how long he had been asleep. Only that he was murderously thirsty. Once Nahiri’s magic had faded and the pain of her cocoon subsided he planned to leave, but instead he slept. Nothing would come here, nothing that was edible at least. Even the rats avoided this hall, but now fresh meat had arrived. He roused himself, his skin was drawn and ashen. He was a fraction of his former self, but golden eyes remained. He had enough strength, or was it rage, as he shattered the cocoon around him. It would have fallen with a crack but the area around him was silenced by his instinctive powers. His victim’s pulse was a beacon, and Sorin hunted with ease. He was too weak to teleport, but he could lure his next meal closer. He could taste her blood in the air as she wandered further into the manor, or what was left of it. This was still his home, even if it was in pieces. 

Joana was unaware that she had entered into a dance with a predator. Sorin approached her with supernatural stealth. She found her way to the desecrated angel. The creature’s calcified body was raised above a pool of dried blood. Is this a real angel or just a statue? She asked, hoping it was the latter. If this was a statue, why was it here? The beautiful, tragic statue had a deep gash in the throat and she could see lines of blood marring the alabaster stone. Her brown eyes followed the streaks of blood as they fell from the wound in her throat and into the font beneath her. Was the blood real? Her curiosity was driven, what sort of a basin was this and what purpose did it serve.

She strained her eyes against the diminished light of the province. She examined the bottom of the basin and spasmed in pain as she reached into the empty font.The stone was so smooth and perfect, she marveled how it felt against the pads of her fingers, it nearly made up for the pain as her entire body shook . Her body was bruised from the journey and each muscle stabbed with a deep and crushing pressure.

She did not even feel the presence of her hunter. Joana was transfixed by the statue. The angel’s face as so beautiful . At first she seemed like a mere decoration, but as she examined basin a darker purpose was hidden in her sad, lifeless eyes. It was then that sharp fangs pierced her shoulder. At first, she attempted to resist as a stronger body forced her against the basin and drank from her liberally. Her muscles had hurt before, but this was an entirely different agony. Her blood was no longer at her command as the vampire drained her decisively. As she physically weakened , she did not have the will to resist as her mind relented to the energy of the vampire behind her. Give up, she heard as a whisper invaded her mind. Joana simply listened as she gave into embrace of death, it was so much easier. Once her will surrendered, the rest of her body followed as the final dregs of life were drained from her and she slumped against the ancient relic.

Normally, Sorin fed with more grace, but he was beyond malnourished. Her blood was ordinary and without any distinctive flavor, but he was renewed by her nourishing gift. It was almost amusing that she had located the font where he himself was turned as a young man several millennia ago. But now that legacy was in ruins, literally. He glared at the woman that lay at his feet and had an amusing idea. The Markov line was nearly extinct and she was an offering.


	3. Death

Chapter 3: Death 

Life and death are one thread, the same line viewed from different sides. Lao Tzu

There was a mercy in the vampire’s bite, with his piercing fangs he answered a prayer Joana had long held in her heart. “Cassie!” she thought, as he drained her. A sensation of joy overtook her and she even smiled as he slaked his ancient thirst. Cassie appeared before her, a delightful apparition. She was healthy and whole once more,

“Give up.” She encouraged . Even though Joana had survived the Battle of Thraben and the dangerous climb into Stensia, this was a simple request to grant. She stopped fighting the vampire’s sangromancy and lay still as he devoured her life essence. Cassandra caressed her face and said, “Soon, we'll be together again. I promise.” Cassandra had beautiful golden hair and bright green eyes in contrast to her sister’s ruddy complexion and plain brown hair. Her bright tresses danced around her head in an ethereal wind.

“Anything for you,” she thought, wished even. Then, the pain of the vampire’s embrace was gone and replaced with joyous rapture. Joana would remember nothing else.

Once Sorin tasted the girl’s blood he discerned an irreparable loss. He was not surprised she wandered into Stensia. Most mortals who chose this path desired death. His smile was sincere for the first time in what felt like ages. If this girl had nothing to live for he could provide her with a greater purpose than she ever anticipated. Her transformation provided a transient distraction from his vengeant path. Sorin carried the human with a careful reverence as he traveled deep into the manor. He was surrounded by the devastation, loss, and ruin of his grandfather’s legacy. Each twisted stone and emaciated corpse was a remembrance. The Markov bloodline was decimated and his greatest legacy unmade. Even though he had not seen his grandfather in centuries, he felt a duty; he would not see the Markov line end with him.

Deep within his ancestral home, the crypt of the Markov bloodline was untouched. It was protected by a magic that even Nahiri’s devastation could not touch, the very soul of Innistrad herself. The Geier Reach was older than vampires and Stensia was the decrepit life force of a plane that refused to die and she could not bend the mountains to her will. He found more than mere strength in this cavern, the Markov Vault held an ancient magic that soothed his anger. The girl was fading quickly and her life force fluttered. Regrettably, Sorin was harried. He wanted more time to offer her a worthy rebirth, but this would have to do.

There was no time. In a fluid motion, his fang’s pierced his wrist and pressed it against her mouth .The first drop of blood on her tongue initiated the change and her spirit was reborn. At first, Sorin was hesitant. Had he waited too long? Joana was simply inert on the raised dais. He watched impatiently for the first signs of her transformation. Then, he winced as her teeth pierced the flesh of his wrist and latched onto his arm. He allowed her to take her fill for a few moments before ripping arm back. If her wish to die was strong, her will to live was more powerful.

Even so, Sorin was still weak. He could not spare too much blood for the neonate. Ordinarily, he resented hiding beneath the ground, like a skulking criminal. At this moment,he found a distinct comfort within the family crypt. He was filled with a sense of calm as his progeny’s body began to contort and shift. Each newborn bore the pain of transformation differently. First, the structure of her face changed as they adjusted to the carnivorous teeth and her skin became translucent as the cursed blood thundered through her veins. Joana’s hands clenched as each nail became a deadly talon. He was relieved that her change would take several hours. He needed time to recover. Sorin had no desire to spend his time locked away in an ancient cavern after Nahiri’s imprisonment, but he found a sense of peace as he kept watch.

Joana felt a surge of pain as a profane energy coursed through her veins. Why wasn’t she dead? She attempted to collect her thoughts. The vampire should have killed her. Very few humans were turned by the benevolent benefactors of Innistrad. Her death was all but assured, Cassie had promised her that the nothing of this life would end, but she lied. “No,” Joanna discerned, she knew better. Cassandra was a trick this vampire charlatan used to trick her. She would open her eyes and she would kill it for what was did. It defiled her body with polluted blood and twisted the memory of her beloved sister. If she was a vampire, it would be easy. The Cathar’s said a vampire that had recently sired a neonate could be weaker than others, no matter the age or strength of the monster.

First, she listened and heard nothing. Not even the thrust of the winds. There was no sound, until she heard the even breath of another. She hoped it was her maker, Joana wanted nothing more than sink her new fangs into it’s cursed throat. With that prayer, she finally opened her eyes and took in her surroundings. The cave looked older than the walls of Thraben and the ruin’s of the great vampire houses. The tips of her nails were resting against stone table and Joana observed she was not alone. 

Once her eyes adjusted to the utter darkness of the crypt, she saw her maker. His white hair seemed familiar and the lines of his face were noble and pleasant. She would have noticed golden eyes, but they were shut. He appeared to be resting. Joana’s grin was deadly. The grace of the vampire was helpful as she sat up. Her motions were fluid and swift, she only had a few moments before he sensed her energy and sprinted. Her fangs were elongated and ready as she neared his vulnerable throat. However before Joana could even connect his hand clasped around her throat and he slammed her back on the dais with stunning force. She felt the slight puncture of claws against the back of her neck and sputtered weakly as the air was forced from her lungs.

This vampire seemed familiar as she struggled against his grip, but Sorin simply rebuked her,

“Ungrateful neonate.” For some reason, Joana despaired as he rejected her, “I am Sorin Markov and you will not raise a hand at me again, child.” He scolded her and released her throat. “If you do, I will not be so gentle next time.” Sorin laughed sternly at her difficulty and she then understood why he was so amused at her rebellion. He was not just a vampire, he was among the oldest of them. The self-proclaimed Lord of Innistrad. His coat was crafted from the finest leather and armored with intricate silver plates. The breastplate bore a blood red gem and decorated with a regal carvings. In that moment, Joana realized how foolish she was to think she could best him. “Good,” he stated as he read her face. Her resistance faded and she felt a great nothingness wash over her. “Now, that you are done being foolish, we can properly get to know one another,” he said with a frustrating confidence.

“Are you really Sorin Markov?” She asked unwittingly, feeling dumb all of a sudden. Even to the Cathar’s, the fabled heir of Markov was a legend in his own right. He glared at her with his golden eyes, and she felt a chill as he sighed,

“Yes, otherwise I would not have said it.” Joana realized how dense she sounded and thought to explain in greater detail.She chose to stay quiet. In truth she was miserable. Her anger may have temporarily subsided, but she could never go home. She was a monster entirely. Sorin observed her forlorn expression and realized where her thoughts invariably went. “Joana,” he said delicately, “Whatever you once were, you are not that now. But there was nothing left for you to return to, was there?” He asked her seriously. He already knew the answer, but it was important that she spoke the words herself. Joana shook her head. Her voice rose little higher than a whisper,

“No. Nothing,” she admitted. Sorin almost felt a filial tenderness as the young neonate came to grips with her new change and encouraged her, 

“Then you will have nothing to miss.” Joana took no comfort in his words. They were obviously meant to assure her that this new life would be better, but she was a tainted vampire. An undead, hedonistic monster who feasted on the blood of innocents and terrorized Stensia. She would rather be dead.

“What happened to the Manor?” She asked, not knowing what else to say. Sorin’s expression altered. There had been a faint warmth in his eyes, but it was replaced by a fiery rage. He remembered everything again: Nahiri’s declaration in stone, Avacyn’s anguished unmaking, and his failed campaign of vengeance. It all ended in the same place and no action or path could change what happened. He paused for a very long time, as if considering the right way to explain the whole truth to his progeny before he merely replied.

“Too much.” He offered unsatisfactorily. In truth, he was lost for words entirely. Sorin realized he needed to provide more information, “We were not untouched by the horror’s that you faced in Thraben. They invaded my ancestral home.” A tremor laced his voice as he spoke with determination. There was truth in his words. Nahiri had exterminated his bloodline and brought Emrakul’s madness to his plane. Sorin realized he needed to seek out Nahiri, but first Joana must know her purpose.


	4. Rebirth

Chapter 4:Rebirth

O, wind, if winter comes, can spring be far behind?  
Percy Bysshe Shelley

Joana regarded Sorin with an abstract curiosity. For a brief moment the hatred that she felt for him subsided and she pulled a claw against the stone dais. Her body was still sore but the wounds inflicted by Sorin had healed, as did any other aches or pains. “Why?” She asked, “Why did the horrors care about this place so much?” Then, she felt a strong hatred emanate from Sorin. It was not dampened by apathy, but was seething, pulsing with life as his eyes burned into her own. Joana shrank away, terrified as he scowled. Who was her maker? What kind of vampire was he? Who was Sorin Markov? She knew of the legends, and of the Markov line itself, but the scion of Markov was an enigma. His fist was clenched and as he spoke, each consonant sounded like an attack as he rended the air in front of him. 

“You will not ask that question again, do you understand?” Joanna knew this was a command, his tone rendered her voice silent. She was perplexed as she implicitly obeyed him and nodded in deft understanding. Her entire body shook in fear as the physical effect of the command washed over her. Sorin showed no sympathy, instead he reinforced it with another order, “I will tell you when you have proven yourself worthy of my gift.” Her body was frozen as issued Sorin issued the commands. There was nothing she could do but despise him. “We will leave soon,” He explained. “There is no reason to stay here.”

“No,” she whispered. She clenched her fists. Sorin glared at her with disdain. 

“Excuse me,” he inquired. Joanna was terrified but tried to be as brave as she could. Sorin kept a respectful distance from the girl as she defied him yet again. 

“I said, I’m not going, yet. Not before you tell me why you didn’t just kill me,” she stated with tenacity. Joanna closed the distance between them and did not blink as she stated with conviction, “I wanted to die, why else would I got to Stensia?” Sorin’s anger flared, as did his pride. She was fierce, even as a neonate she was not meek, and he did not intimidate her. His expression softened and smiled. Sorin clasped her shoulder before he teleported them to the font where they were both turned.

The angel was as tragic as Sorin remembered. His fingers caressed the smooth stone and wondered how his grandfather had caught and corrupted this angel as mere human. Sorin had never cared enough to find out how, but now he wondered as he traced her delicate features. Sorin’s expression was muted and reflective. He recalled the first time he knelt at the feet of his grandfather. He was chosen first among so many. Even Olivia Voldaren was second to him.

“When I first saw this, I wondered how my grandfather managed to entrap an angel and twist her to his ambitions,” Sorin began. His voice was distinctly reserved and he traced the lines of blood on the alabaster stone. “I never cared to ask my grandfather, I was too resentful. He said we would be immortal, the unquestionable lords of Innistrad and I was his heir. But I wanted nothing to do with his ambitions, so I never asked.” Joana watched as her maker admired the statue with a degree of reverence, “Her blood was an alchemical component that created vampires and my grandfather was the architect of our supremacy.” Sorin’s attention went from the statue to Joana. “ You will secure the Markov Bloodline. Once we find my grandfather he will teach you everything that you will need to know.” Every word was spoken with a stern sincerity and Joana felt the weight of Markov Manor rest on her shoulders. She saw the twisted spires and emaciated vampires, the husks of a line that was once the ruling caste of Stensia. The Markov name as even respected among Cathar’s who knew they had a tempered sense of mercy towards their prey and did not play with their food.

“How?” Joana asked, intimidated by the prospect. She took in the true destruction of the scene around her. A battle was not merely fought here, the Markov Legacy was utterly destroyed, down to the last stone. Sorin smirked as he adjusted his coat and drew a silver comb through his hair.

“That is not something for you to worry about, young one.” Joana was too tired to question Sorin now, besides if she did he would just paralyze her again.

“Where do we go next?” She asked, a wave of nihilistic energy washed over her as she felt the presence of so many dead. It was far more intimate than before, it attacked her very soul as she observed what would have been her new family in such decay. She hated this place, she hated Sorin for changing her, and she hated being a vampire. Sorin did not appear to notice her distress.

He examined her clothing and dirty appearance instead, the majesty of the vampire she became could hardly be seen beneath the grime and tattered robes she wore. “Olivia’s,” Sorin commented as he frowned at her squalid appearance, “You do not look like the my heir, but a peasant I found in the dirt.” She wanted to slap him repeatedly.She shouted internally, but her voice failed her. Or was it her courage? Sorin grin was smug at her resignation. “Olivia Voldaren is not my friend, your life may be in danger under her care, but we have no choice.”

Sorin’s strength was returning, but he was not able to teleport them to her manor. They would need to travel. “There is a village a few miles from here, they were servants of my family. If there are any left I can call upon them for aid and sustenance.” The vampire was not lying. In the dank and sunless land of Stensia, a small village eked out a living. When Joana first traveled into Stensia her muscles were worn and tired, fatigue was setting in, and she felt as if at any moment she could die. Now, however, she felt comfortable in the darkness around her. 

The village was indeed meager. A few of the citizens,if you could call them that, remained alive. When they entered it seemed deserted at first, and each door was reflective. That was when Joana realized that she could not see herself in glass. 

“The serf’s here do this to protect themselves from weaker vampires. It can be intimidating to first learn that you cannot see yourself in a reflection,” Sorin explained without any inflection, “Life in this area is very bleak for them, but the serf’s of my family at least do not need to worry about being hunted as often.” He didn’t realize that he spoke of his family as if they were a power in the region, it was easy to forget everything he had lost. Sorin was always so distant from Innistrad and his family that he could barely discern the ache from knowing most of his line was exterminated. When he first found them, tangled in the misshapen walls of the manor, Sorin didn’t even care. He saw the message of the lithomancer, but knew that he was an outcast from them. He felt so little that Sorin wondered if there was anything left of his heart to mourn. Avacyn’s demise proved otherwise, it was like tearing out a part of himself and willing it out of existence. He felt her loss each day and the pain in truth had not subsided. 

The girl was interesting however,as her eyes darted around chaotically with a shocked wonder. Joana was his progeny and he could feel a deep connection to her,like a thread strung between them. They stopped in front of a larger domicile. The peaked roof pierced the thick air. Sorin knocked on the door with an air of authority . Joana recognized the symbol of the Markov house on the door and small, bent man opened the door.

“My-my Lord!” He exclaimed, “You live, we thought our benefactors dead!” If possible, the man bent lower to the ground. Sorin’s head dipped, he was a king in this area and they treated him as such. He opened the door for the both of them. Joana observed that meager was an understatement as he lived in two room house. The first room was on the ground floor and the second was above them. A staircase without any railing led up to a loft area where the he presumably slept. “What is it you require?” The peasant begged.

“Food and two horses for a journey,” Sorin ordered. The tiny man looked nervous, his receding hairline shook as he trembled. This was more than a small favor but the vampire didn’t seem to care that he would be taking some of their most valuable resources. 

“My lord,” he groveled, “I will provide what I can.” Sorin barely noted his sacrifice and Joana interrupted,

“You’re sacrifice is appreciated.” She had no idea why she did it, but this didn’t seem right. Asking for one horse in a time like this was great gift, two was a sacrifice. Without it the village could not sustain itself. Sorin glared at her as if she was an outsider and the village elder’s eyes were wide and terrified as she spoke. He said nothing and hurried to find the items for his master. Sorin waited for the old man to leave and coughed roughly before chiding,

“You are new, an outsider to this province. This is not Gavony. These are my servants. This entire village has a duty to assist the Markov Family. It is not a sacrifice to give fealty,” Sorin explained, he was cold and unfeeling as he cast down these peasants. “These humans have been given permission to live here. Do not insult them, or yourself again.” Joana was exasperated, and realized then how hungry she was. This would be her first meal as a vampire. Several long minutes passed until the village elder returned with two people. They were oddly clean and very eager to be delivered as food.

The first was a young woman, perhaps Joana’s age. She had earnest brown eyes and dull brown hair. She smelled her blood pulse and her canines extended. Joana covered her mouth in embarrassment as she felt the click of her teeth.. The second person was another woman.She was far more terrified and intimidated by the two vampires in front of her.

“Is this acceptable, my lord?” The servant asked as Sorin stood and beckoned Joana to follow him. Sorin did not regard him as he said,

“This one is frightened. I will feed from her. Watch me. I will show you how best to do it.” First, Sorin caressed the trembling girl's face, drawing a strand of hair aside. He focused on her scared eyes and spoke softly. His voice was a gentle whisper, “Don’t be afraid, child, I won’t kill you.” He assured her and moved one hand to her neck and another behind her back. A claw extended from his fingers and he pricked a spot at her skin. Once it began to bleed he kissed it at first, then bit her decisively. His fang’s pierced her neck and she convulsed in his arms. “Stay still,” Sorin commanded before he drank from her. It was only for a few long moments before he pulled away and the young woman looked dazed. He escorted her to a chair where she sat down listlessly.

She watched carefully, but was lost. In truth the moment she smelled the blood that dribbled from the wound her neck, all that Joana could hear was the hunger. It was a siren song and she felt her mouth wet with anticipation. She watched the woman’s face as her emotions were carefully controlled. She didn’t even express pain as he bit her neck. The way he held her was almost intimate and his finger’s looked as gentle as a lover’s while he kept her hair from covering her neck. All Joana felt was her own hunger. How long had she been a vampire? A day or so? She salivated.

“Did you follow that young one?” Sorin asked, snapping her attention back to reality. She nodded, lying entirely. Joana was clueless. “Make certain to feel the strength of your victim’s pulse and stop before the human dies. There is no need to kill unless you have a purpose for it.”  
Joana thought she understood as she approached her victim. At first she stared, as she felt the hunger and struggled to remember how Sorin fed. Did he bite the neck or did he hold her at the waist? Her hunger clouded her memory. Joana pulled the woman’s hair to the side was about to bite down when she felt the young woman’s fear. This act now would define her as a monster. She hesitated until she heard her maker speak,

“By the Blind Eternities!” Sorin snapped as he separated them. “If you can’t feed from the neck then use her arm.” He ordered and in exasperation Sorin grabbed the human’s arm roughly and drew a vertical cut along the wrist. It bled for a few moments and Joana merely watched before setting her mouth upon it. Sorin held the girl steady as she winced in pain. Finally, Joana drank. Initially, she was nervous she would hate how the blood tasted against her tongue but instead she could not stop herself. It was delicious, like a delicate sweet or rich chocolate and she consumed without any thought. She forgot to listen for the pulse as Sorin instructed and simply desired to sate her hunger.

When he fed it was elegant and refined. Similar to a seduction as he brought down the human’s defenses. The neonate however, sucked violently on the wound and her human was only sedated by Sorin Markov’s glamour. At first she struggled, but once she the spell was cast the pulse began to slow. And all too suddenly, the feeding ended as Sorin ripped her wrist from Joana’s mouth. Joana had taken too much and the girl was near death. Her skin was pale and in shock. Without remorse, Sorin finished her, carefully absorbing the final dregs of her life before the blood turned from wine into vinegar.

Now, he looked like a true lord of the night, not only had Sorin fed and his complexion recovered from his starvation, but a small smear of blood was beneath his lip. He did not clean it off.

“That was clumsy,” he spoke abrasively and berated Joana, “That girl died needlessly because you were too feral. What are you some savage blood sucker?” Joana should have felt ashamed, but was in euphoria as the new blood pumped through her body. She was truly alive with profane power pulsing through her veins.


	5. Vitality

Chapter 5: Vitality

Few of us have vitality enough to make any of our instincts imperious.  
George Bernard Shaw

Joanna was invigorated. The serf’s essence tasted better than anything she had ever known. It was pure vitality and surged through her like life itself. She forgot the Cathar’s teachings and monstrosity of vampirism. All she understood was how the blood of her victim coursed through her undead veins. A hedonistic impatience dominated her senses and her eyes shone with lustful greed. Then, she observed Sorin’s eyes pierce her. They were hard and cruel, and she drowned beneath the weight of them. Her euphoria was replaced with true sense of fear. He regretted subjugating Joana, but it was necessary. It was not fair, but it was just. Far better that her instincts be tempered by fear, then run wild under laxity. 

The enormity of his presence overwhelmed Joana. Then, it was as if she observed Sorin Markov for the first time. He was everything a vampire ought to be: elegant and reserved. Even though his armor was beaten, he was far from broken. He was vibrant and alive with self-possessed rage. Although their bloodline was all but extinct, he was not defeated. Joana could even call him fair. He radiated a natural charm and imperial sense of authority that was not stifled by his alienating and harsh demeanor.

“Do you have question?” Sorin demanded, unaware of the way the neonate sudden affectation. Her eyes were fixed on him in appraisal. Joana approached Sorin with deliberate curiosity. What made him seem so different from others? His eyes were stern as he watched the neonate carefully. 

“I--” Joana stuttered, “I don’t. I just never saw you like this before.” He raised a brow, imploring her to continue, “You are the Lord of Innistrad, you’re different from the other vampires, it’s like you have a light in you. Most vampires are hunger and lust, but you have more than that.” There was a heartfelt lilt in her voice as she asked, “Am I like you?” Sorin narrowed his eyes and created physical distance between them. Joanna perceived his disdain as he responded somberly,

“Hardly. Perhaps one day you may resemble what I am, but you are nothing like me, neonate.” His voice was not cruel but his words were. She was crushed by his callous rejection. He was her maker and refused to even use her name. 

As the two vampires spoke the village elder completed the remainder of Sorin’s tasks. The neonate was correct, the village could not afford two horses. In fact, they only had one, the other had died only a few days past. He waited for the two lords to finish speaking and then approached cautiously and with great hesitation.

“My apologies for interrupting my Lord.” Sorin acknowledged the village elder and sighed with impatience.“We only have one horse, we cannot even spare another for you. Though if we did I would offer it, My Lord.” Sorin waved his hand dismissively at the elder’s groveling. He was bent so low that Sorin could swear he was digging a hole.

“You have done what you can, that is all I ask of you. I will do what I can to protect you.” He promised, though his voice rang with irritation. “I will ask if the Voldaren Clan to watch over your village for your service, elder.” Joana tilted her head at Sorin’s benevolence. He was truly a lord over these people. The Cathar’s taught her that vampire’s were heartless and preyed on the serfs of Stensia. However, the relationship as far more complex than the priests were aware. 

As Sorin examined the mare, Joana watched with a thinly contained frustration. His rejection still stung and she was unwanted and inadequate. She watched as the vampire treated the village elder with more deference and showed more concern for the horse than his own progeny. In all fairness, the mare’s ribs were visible despite the consuming dusk and she looked as if she would not be able to carry Sorin, let alone the both of them, across the province. Joana wondered what would happen if she just ran away while Sorin examined the mare. Her eyes narrowed as she watched him feed the horse his blood, she had heard of vampires who did this to give the animal more strength. From what Joana noted, the mare would need it. The thick sangromancy that concealed the sun from the province provided little sustenance to anything living in the Stensia.

Joana wanted to revolt but the the blood ties between them tethered her into obedience. Sorin only casually regarded her subservience. “Young one,” he addressed, “Are you ready to go?” He asked, wondering why his neonate was so distant. Then, he recalled the callous way he upbraided Joana for her feeding. It was more important to curb her feeding habits, then allow the neonate to run wild, no matter her feelings on the matter. “Do I need to ask again?” He threatened. Sorin was not concerned about extracting her compliance, though he preferred other, less vicious means.To exploit the sacred connection between them was a painful process for the neonate and he disliked to abuse it on principle.

Joana wanted to resist Sorin, despite the benign nature of of the request. However, she recognized the fruitlessness of such an action. Not only could he easily command her to do anything but she recognized a glare in his eyes. They flashed briefly and she felt the link between them fluctuate. It was as if he pulled on an invisible string and Joana lowered her eyes in submission. Sorin was relieved that she yielded to him. It was one less conflict and they would both need their strength in the battles to come.

In an elegant arc, Sorin placed his foot in the stirrup and mounted the horse. He sat upon the horse with practiced grace granted by his station. Joana was far less genteel. She was used to climbing a horse, but over-compensated with her superior strength. Instead, she vaulted on top of the creature. The mare was startled and Sorin reminded her, “Be careful. Your strength and agility has increased dramatically.” His voice was somehow more gentle. Maybe it was because she was tired of fighting him or he was growing used to her presence. Joanna nodded in silent reply and gripped his waist in preparation for the journey. Sorin prepared himself for the worst,he had no idea how much time had passed since Olivia’s betrayal and his imprisonment, but he calculated that the Lord of Innistrad would take delight in holding court in her grandest estate.

End of Book 1: The Cracked Foundations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for reading this fiction. This is the end of part one. I will begin the second part in the next week or so but I need to consider the material. Please, if you have any comments, compliments or suggestions I will be happy to hear them.


End file.
